Max doesn't like strawberries.
Yet here she is, sitting in her cramped kitchen in an old worn out chair with a fresh bowl of fruit situated between her and her best friend. She glances at the clock on the wall, her eyebrows lifting slightly as she realizes it's creeping up on eleven o'clock at night. Her sister had blown through for a brief half hour to let her know she was heading out of town for the weekend, leaving Max alone. Well, she would have been if not for Terry.
Beads of water drip off the strawberry as she picks it up, biting down. Juice spills outward and a sweet flavor splashes over her taste buds. This isn't the first time, either. Every month, Terry would swing by this vendor on the opposite side of town because the guy who owned it had a sale where everything was half off. Being a broke high school student, Terry always welcomed any sale he could get his hands on. Also, he really liked strawberries. Or at least that's what he told her. Max knows better.
"You know I don't really like strawberries, right?" she asks, licking the corner of her mouth. Terry doesn't meet her gaze, but there's an upward curve at the edge of his lips.
"Really? Why are you eating 'em, then?"
She narrows her eyes at him the slightest bit. Evasive. How like him. "Why do you always bring them here?"
He shrugs. "I hate eating alone."
"Uh-huh." She sucks the excess juice off of her fingers. He sees her out of the corner of his eye and says nothing, only reaching for another piece of fruit.
"It's not that they aren't good," Max continues unnecessarily, picking up yet another one.
"But I've never understood the appeal." She wraps her lips around the fruit, watching him through half-lidded eyes, and then bites off the tip. Terry's eyes finally lift from the bowl and meet hers with impenetrable fortitude.
She licks the inside of the fruit she's bitten and then takes another bite. "Mm-hm."
"Well," Terry says in a suspiciously patient voice. "Everyone likes food you can eat with your hands. It's much more…"
"Intimate?" she offers. He smirks, not taking the bait.
"I was gonna say entertaining."
"Ah," she admits. "Then why don't you get peaches or pears or something?"
"Can't dip those in chocolate or whipped cream. Well, maybe peaches, but not pears," he replies, dipping his own strawberry in the aforementioned topping sitting next to the bowl. Max finishes her strawberry and shifts her legs under the table. The longer their conversation continued, the more she had been paying less attention to the fruit and more attention to Terry. Which she suspects is the entire point of this interaction. She knows there's nothing in the fruit that should make her feel a curious ache deep inside her stomach but it's still there.
"Point taken. I guess it's the little things," Max says, dipping one finger in the whipped cream. She watches him this time when she sucks the cream off and his hands are folded and there's an incredibly dangerous look in his eyes. She likes it. She likes it a lot.
Silence descends for a handful of seconds before she speaks in a breathless voice.
"You just gonna sit there all night?"
His voice is a whisper. "Nope."
A demure, almost devilish smile crosses her full, wet lips and she stands, waltzing into her room without looking back. After a couple of seconds, Terry gets up and follows her, closing the door.
Five minutes later, he comes back into the kitchen and grabs the whipped cream.
A/N: Honestly, I have no idea where this came from. I just got bored and I realized I hadn't written any Terry/Max in a while. So I sat down and out came this shamelessly flirty little ficlet. No plans to continue it, but hey, who knows what the future might bring? Wanna inspire me? Just hit that Review button, my dears.